Point of Impact
by Marianna Morgan
Summary: AU tag set between 5x21 and 5x22 – Severely Hurt Sam, Worried Big Brother Dean, Awesome Bobby – Dean frowned, seeing Sam half a second before he saw the car that would hit him.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary** : AU tag set between 5x21 and 5x22 – Severely Hurt Sam, Worried Big Brother Dean, Awesome Bobby – Dean frowned, seeing Sam half a second before he saw the car that would hit him.

 **Disclaimer** : Not mine.

 **Warnings** : Language, a life-changing injury, and spoilers for season five.

 **A/N** : If the last few months have taught me anything, it's that life can change in an instant. And most times, you won't even see it coming.

* * *

 _Life is anything but fair. ~ Kaleo_

* * *

As with most things in their life, this was never supposed to happen.

It was just a regular hunt.

The brothers splitting up to cover more territory as they tracked the shapeshifter through town on foot, hoping to corner it before it could change into someone else; hoping to kill it before it could _kill_ someone else.

And this was finally their chance.

After being on the case for almost a week, this was their chance to put a silver bullet through its heart and move on.

Because they had other shit to do.

A devil to trap, an apocalypse to stop...

Important, _world-saving_ shit to do.

But this had been just a regular hunt – a _break_ – and both brothers had agreed it was what they needed to regroup and reconnect before the big impending showdown in Detroit.

So they had headed to Geneva Falls, Wisconsin...which was an unusual location for a shifter – and just further proof the entire world was fucked up with Lucifer on the loose and the apocalypse looming

But here they were.

And this was their chance to kill one more evil sonuvabitch before going back home to Bobby's and finalizing their plans for the ultimate endgame – returning Lucifer to his cage.

"Follow him down the alley," Dean told his brother, pointing in the direction the shifter had disappeared. "I'll circle around the block and head him off."

Sam nodded at the plan and rounded the corner.

Dean headed in the opposite direction, dodging pedestrians and traffic as he zig-zagged from sidewalk to street...and then back to sidewalk.

He squinted as he ran, the streetlights and the headlights both illuminating and distorting with their harsh glare.

But up ahead, Dean clearly saw his brother.

Sam suddenly appearing as the alley emptied into the street.

Dean frowned, seeing his kid half a second before he saw the car that would hit him.

And there was no time.

No time to call out to Sam.

No time to reach Sam before impact.

No time to take Sam's place.

The car was heading straight for Dean's little brother.

The driver not seeming to realize there was a person in the street.

Sam looked disoriented as well, startled by where the alley had unexpectedly emptied and momentarily blinded by the flood of lights from above and all around.

Trying to gain his bearings, Sam turned slightly – sensing danger as he had been trained to do – and looked confused...then horrified when he realized what was about to happen.

In the next instant, the car struck him.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, watching as his brother's body was flung in the air before landing on the hood of the car...and then _staying there_.

The driver predictably panicked upon impact, overcorrecting and steering wildly as the car jumped the sidewalk's curb.

People screamed and scattered like ants, their Friday night out on the town suddenly interrupted by a careening car.

Tables and chairs toppled like bowling pins.

The car's tires squealed; the unmistakable stench of burnt rubber filling the air as the wheels skidded across the concrete when the driver braked hard and fast before slamming into the brick wall of a local pizza joint.

Sam's body followed the momentum, flopping back into the wall and then landing once again on the car's hood.

"Oh my god..." Dean murmured at what he had just witnessed and at the sight of his brother now pinned between the car's crumpled bumper and the building's crumbling wall. "Sam!" he yelled again and hauled ass, pushing stunned bystanders out of his fucking way as he raced to reach his kid.

The street around him was chaos.

Some of the pizza joint's customers crying hysterically at the near-miss, the car having _almost hit them_ while they had dined on the sidewalk.

Others just stared, speechless.

A few of the more heroic witnesses were beginning to make their way over to the wrecked car; calling out orders to dial 911, to check the driver, to check the guy sprawled motionless on the hood.

But no...the guy on the hood was _Dean's_ – and the big brother made that clear as he approached.

"Stay the fuck away from him! Don't touch him!" Dean growled, shoving away the two men who were reaching for Sam.

The men froze and stared at the newcomer, startled by the hostility in the stranger's voice and body language.

"I'm his brother," Dean told them and crouched, lowering himself to be eye-level with Sam as the kid laid on the hood of the car. "Sammy..."

And thank god Sam was conscious.

But Sam didn't respond, obviously in shock as he blinked slowly at Dean.

Dean's heart pounded as his gaze swept over his injured little brother. "It's okay. You're okay," he soothed, determined not to freak out as he quickly triaged his kid, taking in the amount of blood covering Sam's face from where his head had impacted the car's windshield.

Sam watched with a detached stare as Dean snatched off his outer shirt, using the fabric to carefully clear the blood from Sam's face so he could better see his brother.

"Help's coming, Sam," Dean promised, already hearing the sirens in the distance.

Sam just blinked at him; his breath beginning to wheeze, beginning to fucking _gurgle_ in his throat.

And Dean knew that sound.

Had heard it more times than he cared to remember.

The death gurgle.

The sound of blood rising to choke his kid.

Blood from the massive internal injuries Sam must have sustained when he was _hit by a fucking car._

Dean glanced to his left as rage surged through him, seeing the driver on the opposite side of the shattered windshield and wanting to hit _her_ with _his_ car.

Just ram the bitch with the Impala – _over and over_ – and call it even.

But the woman was fine.

Barely a scratch.

Dean could see that as she was eased from the driver's seat by multiple pairs of hands; everyone urging her to be careful as she unsteadily stood, bracing herself on the edge of the car door.

She swallowed, staring at Sam in shocked disbelief before her attention flickered to Dean, holding his gaze and opening her mouth to speak.

But Dean spoke first.

"Not one fucking word," he hissed, not interested in her apologies.

Because her words weren't going to help Sam, weren't going to put Dean's little brother back together.

Dean glared at the woman until she looked away and then refocused on the only thing that mattered – _Sammy_.

"You're okay," Dean repeated, his knees beginning to ache as he continued to crouch on the sidewalk beside the wrecked car.

The big brother still using his shirt to dab at the blood that trickled from Sam's forehead – the blood that matted the kid's bangs and seeped into the corners of his eyes and streaked over his cheeks and down his neck.

Blood and bruises and scratches _everywhere..._ and that was just the damage Dean could see.

He didn't even want to think about the kind of damage that was inside his little brother, the kind of trauma Sam's organs had sustained...or what this meant for the kid's legs trapped beneath the car.

Dean glanced down at the thought, seeing his brother's bloody, tattered jeans on the other side of the tire and knowing Sam's left leg shouldn't bend that way.

At best, it was broken.

At worst...

Dean briefly closed his eyes – refusing to allow himself to go there – and returned his attention to Sam's face.

The big brother clenching his jaw against the fear and anger that burned hot, against the panic that threatened to suffocate him.

Because this was bad.

 _This was really fucking bad_.

And this had been _his_ idea.

Sending Sam down the alley had been _Dean's_ idea.

And _this_ was the result – Sam possibly dying, possibly bleeding out as he was sandwiched between a car and a brick wall.

Dean felt a stab of guilt even as he smiled at his brother, keeping his touch light as he smoothed the kid's blood-soaked hair away from his battered face.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Sammy."

Dean refused to believe any other option, any other outcome.

Because they had weathered a really shitty year but were finally back on track, had finally regained their trust in each other and had reconnected as brothers.

Their relationship recovered, their bond stronger than ever.

And Dean refused to believe _this_ was how it was going to end – that his brother was going to be snatched away from him by some never-saw-it-coming accident.

Sam inhaled a wet, shaky breath and coughed, spraying the car's hood with blood.

 _So much blood._

Dean inwardly freaked-the-fuck-out but kept his expression neutral as he refolded his shirt, using the unstained fabric on the opposite side to wipe his brother's lips.

"You're gonna be okay," Dean whispered, the words becoming a prayer.

 _You're gonna be okay._

 _You're gonna be okay._

 _Please,_ please _let him be okay._

Sam's fingers twitched. "D..."

"I'm right here," Dean assured and gently grasped his brother's left hand, feeling Sam's blood smear across his palm as he laced their fingers and squeezed. " _Right here_ , little brother."

Sam coughed again, choking on the blood clogging his throat. He swallowed audibly and wheezed another breath. "M-my..."

"Shhh..." Dean hushed. "Don't try to talk, Sam. Just try to relax."

...as if it was that easy.

As if it was even possible.

As if a person could just relax as his broken body sprawled over the warm hood of the car that had just plowed into him.

Sam's breath once again gurgled in his throat. Dean's kid drowning in his own blood but still holding Dean's gaze...along with his big brother's hand.

Dean tightened his grip around Sam's fingers, glancing at the ambulance as it arrived on the scene and then refocusing on his brother. "You're gonna be okay."

* * *

 _ **TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

The ride to the hospital had been a blur.

Dean remembered sitting beside the stretcher in the back of the ambulance, gripping Sam's hand even when the kid had finally lost consciousness and could no longer return the pressure of his grasp.

He remembered the rush of the ER, the yelled orders and the flurry of activity around Sam as the doctors and nurses had worked to stabilize him before whisking him away for surgery.

Dean remembered Sam's hand slipping from his as they had wheeled his kid into the elevator, remembered telling the surgeon – _begging him_ – to save his little brother before the doors had slid shut.

The hours that followed had crawled.

The clock in the waiting room mocking him as it had slowly ticked while he had paced.

Back and forth, back and forth...'round and 'round and 'round.

At hour three, Dean had finally collapsed in a chair; had felt both wired and exhausted, anxious to know...but terrified to find out.

Because what if Sam didn't make it?

What if the last words Dean had said to his brother had been a lie?

 _You're gonna be okay._

What if that wasn't true?

And what about what Sam had tried to say before Dean had hushed him?

 _M-my..._

My...what?

My insides are mush?

My legs are crushed?

My luck sucks?

Maybe that was it...because Sam's luck _really fucking sucked._

Dean had tipped his head back against the wall and had closed his eyes; had tried to find his center – though his true north was still in surgery – and had decided he should call Bobby.

The older hunter would want to know what had happened and would haul ass to Wisconsin to help keep vigil.

But there was no time to call for backup as the surgeon had emerged from the double doors, fresh from the operating room. The man had motioned for Dean, then had led him to a small room where nothing good was ever said.

Dean had refused to sit. "Just tell me."

The surgeon had hesitated, had stared at Dean as though he was trying to gauge whether Dean could handle what he was about to say. "Is there anyone you want to call, anyone you want to join you before – "

" – _tell me_ ," Dean had growled, annoyed by this man wasting his time.

Because if Sam was still alive, then Dean wanted to be with him.

And if Sam was gone, then Dean would still be with his little brother. Right after he swallowed a bullet.

Either way, time was wasting.

The surgeon had sighed, holding Dean's gaze – a rule he always made himself follow whenever he delivered bad news to a patient's family. A personal standard requiring him to have the courage to look them in the eye when he shattered their world.

"I'm sorry..." he had offered as his opening line.

And Dean had felt instantly numb.

Had felt his vision narrow, his heart pound, his ears buzz.

"...but we couldn't save your brother's leg," the surgeon had continued.

Dean had blinked. "What?"

"His leg," the surgeon had repeated, removing x-rays from a chart; the black-and-white films snapping stiff as the man shook them and placed them over the light hanging on the wall.

Dean had stared at the images of an obviously shattered bone and had assumed he was looking at the results of Sam's leg being crushed beneath the car's tire.

"We were unable to successfully repair the damage sustained by Sam's left leg," the surgeon had needlessly explained as he had pointed at the x-ray, at the fragmented bones and the jagged shard that had protruded from his patient's skin. "The severe nature of the dispersed, open fracture combined with the amount of time the blood flow had been restricted at the scene left no other viable choice than to amputate below the knee."

The surgeon had made it sound so simple, so neat and clean.

But what he had been saying was that half of Sam's left leg was _gone_.

...and with it, a part of Dean's little brother.

Because Sam would never be same.

The kid already viewed himself as damaged, as unworthy, as a "freak".

And now...

Dean had swallowed against the bile that had risen in his throat. "But Sam..." He had swallowed again. "Sam is okay?"

The surgeon had nodded. "Relatively speaking, yes. We tried to repair his ruptured spleen but there was too much damage and the risk of internal bleeding was too significant, so we removed it. But we were able to control the other bleeding and repair the additional internal damage. We're in the process of replenishing the blood he lost and will continue to monitor his vitals."

Dean had nodded, bracing himself on the back of the chair as he had continued to stand and absorb the information.

"Miraculously, Sam's right leg is fine. No fractures of any kind, only a few deep cuts that required suturing and of course some pretty impressive bruising. Several of Sam's ribs were broken, along with his right arm, and he sustained a concussion that has caused minor swelling in his brain. Since additional swelling is a concern...especially over the next 24 to 48 hours...your brother will receive intracranial pressure monitoring as well as medication that is considered a hyperosmotic agent to help reduce the swelling. He also received several stitches, here and here..."

The surgeon had pointed to his own forehead, then his temple.

"...and will take two different intravenous antibiotics to battle potential infection as well as medication to regulate his blood pressure, manage pain, and keep him sedated. For now, he's breathing well on the vent and appears to be resting comfortably."

Dean had nodded again. "Where is he? I wanna see him."

"Of course," the surgeon had agreed. "Your brother is currently in recovery and then will be moved to ICU for monitoring over the next few days. If his condition remains stable, we'll begin to wake him from the coma and – "

" – coma?" Dean had echoed, his heart sinking.

The surgeon had nodded. "Medically induced," he had clarified. "Protocol for patients such as your brother who have sustained significant trauma."

Dean had only stared at the man, because nothing was "protocol" about his little brother being in a fucking coma.

There had been a beat of silence before the surgeon had sighed, resisting the urge to say he understood how his patient's brother felt and instead continuing with his explanation of Sam's treatment.

"As I was saying...if indicated, we'll begin waking your brother in the next few days and then will wean him from the vent. And then after that, we'll take it one milestone at a time." He had paused. "Needless to say, there's a long journey ahead."

Dean had nodded once more as he had felt overwhelmed by the severity of Sam's condition...by the news just delivered and information just outlined...by all that had happened in such a short time.

Because at lunch, everything had been fine.

And now...everything had changed forever.

"Baby steps," the surgeon had advised about how to approach the path life had now set before them and had returned Sam's x-rays to his chart. "I'll have the nurse escort you down to recovery."

But the trip down to recovery had been delayed as Dean had excused himself and retreated to the hospital's bathroom. Had locked the door behind him and had turned on the faucet before he had thrown up in the sink.

Then Dean had just stood there, staring at himself in the mirror. His t-shirt stained with Sam's blood, his equally stained hands shaking as he had gripped the counter.

Silent tears brimming as he had finally allowed himself the breakdown he deserved.

Because Sam's leg was _gone._

There was nothing else to say.

There was nothing else to _feel_ except this indescribable ache for what was never coming back; this overwhelming sense of loss; this unspeakable sadness for his little brother.

 _Because Sam's leg was_ _gone_.

Dean had ducked his head, gasping a ragged breath as he had cried for his little brother's loss.

Minutes had ticked by as quiet tears had streaked his cheeks. Dean allowing himself to grieve until their warm salty paths had turned cold and stiff on his skin.

Then that had been it.

Dean had splashed water on his face, had dried it with scratchy paper towels, and had told himself to get a fucking grip.

Because as tragic as this was, as much as it _fucking sucked..._ this was their life now. They would have to pick up the pieces and move on.

And _that's_ what Sam needed from Dean.

Sam needed his brother to be strong...to be the comforting constant...to know when to push and when to pull back.

Sam needed Dean to listen to him rant...and be there when he cried...and say nothing at all when Sam didn't feel like talking.

Sam needed his big brother to be patient...to hug him when all else failed...and to love him through this massive cluster-fuck that neither of them had seen coming.

And Dean could do that.

He could do _all_ of it.

Damn right he could.

Because Sam's leg was gone...but _Sam_ was still there.

And that was all that mattered.

That was all that ever mattered.

Dean could handle anything as long as his little brother was still with him.

He could handle anything.

...even this.

Dean had nodded at his reflection in the mirror as he had continued to stand in front of the sink. His chest tight with emotion. His eyes burning with unshed tears. The water from the faucet still swirling down the drain in a strangely soothing rush of white noise.

Later, he wouldn't remember how long he had stood there in that bathroom – maybe an hour...maybe a little more.

But when he had finally emerged, Dean had made sure his quiet breakdown was over and his game-face was back in place.

Because Sam needed his big brother to be strong...and Dean was going to be there for his kid.

* * *

 _ **TBC**_


	3. Chapter 3

Sam was in ICU by the time Dean had pulled himself together.

The nurse smiled as he approached. "Hi there. You must be the brother," she greeted and received a single nod, affirming her assumption. "Dean, right?"

Another nod.

She held her smile, accustomed to her patients' quiet, distracted family members. "Well, nice to meet you, Dean. I think we'll be seeing quite a lot of each other. My name's Rebecca, and I'm working a double shift. So, I'll be Sam's nurse through the evening and overnight as well."

Dean glanced at her but kept walking.

Rebecca gestured to the door of Sam's room. "He's holding his own," she commented proudly about her new patient when Dean passed by her station, frowning but understanding when he still said nothing in return.

Because it was always difficult for families to see their loved ones like this – so medically fragile, such critical condition.

In this case, as if the shock of a car accident wasn't traumatic enough, this patient's body was also especially battered...not to mention the amputation.

Rebecca felt a rush of sympathy tighten her chest as she watched Sam's brother linger in the doorway.

Dean blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimly-lit room, always forgetting how much he _hated_ seeing his brother like this – Sam remarkably small for his size as he laid motionless in a hospital bed, bruised and broken.

Dean inhaled a shaky breath – reminding himself to keep a grip on his emotions – and glanced above Sam's bed. His gaze tracking the various IV lines to their respective origins; bags filled with what Sam needed to battle his two biggest enemies right now – blood loss and infection.

Other lines and wires led to other equipment.

Some Dean didn't recognize but most he did.

The central line, the feeding tube, the Foley catheter...

The arterial line inserted into Sam's left wrist connected to its own monitor – measuring Sam's blood pressure – while the small, round electrodes on the kid's chest connected to the cardiac monitor.

The intracranial pressure conductors dotted around Sam's head connected to their own monitor, keeping check on the swelling in Sam's brain.

And then there was the cast up to the elbow on Sam's right arm, resting on a pillow beside him. The compression boot on his right leg, periodically inflating and squeezing to prevent blood clots. The ventilator tube protruding from Sam's mouth, shoved down his throat as a machine breathed for Dean's little brother.

Dean remained in the doorway, overwhelmed by the sight but relieved the blood that had covered his brother's face at the accident scene had been washed away...even if that only made it easier to see the two rows of sutures tightly stitched across Sam's forehead and angled down his temple.

Even if that only made it easier to see the dark, vibrant bruises beneath the kid's eyes.

Even if that only made it easier to see the scratches that covered Sam's cheeks and chin from the windshield that had shattered in his face when his head had struck the glass upon impact.

Dean cringed at the memory of his brother being struck by that fucking car, knowing he would be forever haunted by the image of Sam's body momentarily airborne as if it had weighed nothing...and then crashing back down on the hood before being slammed into a brick wall and pinned there.

Dean thought briefly of the driver, remembering the cops talking to her at the scene and hoping they threw the bitch in prison for the rest of her pathetic life; hoping her life would never be the same because his and his brother's certainly wouldn't be.

In the proverbial blink of an eye, everything had changed.

Dean sighed, slowly approaching the bed and keeping his attention on Sam's face...because he wasn't sure if he was ready to look below Sam's waist.

He wasn't sure if he was ready to see only _half_ of Sam's left leg beneath the sheet.

But he knew he _needed_ to look.

Because this was part of Sam now – this _missing_ part – and Dean needed to look.

He needed to accept it, needed to begin making his peace with it so he could help Sam do the same once the kid was awake.

Dean sighed, willing his gaze to travel down the length of Sam's body.

On the right side, a long straight leg...and on the left side, only _half_ of what should've been there.

Dean swallowed, refusing to allow himself to look away as he focused on the stump slightly elevated by a pillow and draped with the sheet; the fabric dangling off its end and then smoothing out to the edge of the mattress.

It was too much.

Dean ducked his head, closing his eyes against the fresh burn of tears and rubbing his hand over his face, telling himself it was okay.

Sam was alive...and this... _all of this..._ was going to be okay.

One day, it would all be okay.

It would be a long journey back.

But they would get there.

 _Baby steps._

Dean released a measured breath, several seconds passing before he lifted his head. His jaw clenched in resistance to his scattered emotions and in determination to stay strong for Sam.

Because yes, this was a shock...and yes, it was going to take some time to adjust on several levels.

But they would weather this storm together.

Just like they always did.

Just like they had weathered every other shitty thing in their life.

Dean sighed, his gaze checking the monitors surrounding his brother before he sat in the chair beside Sam's bed. "Hey ya, Sammy..." he greeted, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and hoarse.

He paused and cleared his throat, hating how uncertain and shaky he felt.

"Turns out I was right..." Dean commented, as if he had won a bet with his brother. "I told you, you were gonna be okay...and you _will be_. You hear me?"

But there was no indication Sam was listening.

No fluttering eyelids, no twitching fingers, no classic face scrunch of a waking little brother. Nothing but a blank, strangely peaceful expression marred by the scratches and bruises and swelling of recent trauma.

Dean sighed once more and reached for his brother, not knowing what else to do in that moment. He just _needed_ to touch his kid, needed for Sam to know he wasn't alone.

"I'm here, Sammy," Dean murmured and laced their fingers like he had done back at the accident scene, like he had done in the ambulance. "I'm here," he repeated and squeezed the hand that was once smaller than his.

Checking on her patient a few minutes later, Rebecca peeped around the doorway; her heart freshly breaking at the sight of Sam's brother holding his hand and softly humming a song she recognized but didn't expect.

She hesitated to enter, not wanting to intrude on such a sweet, private moment...but she had a job to do.

Rebecca sighed. "Knock, knock..." she called and smiled when Dean turned to look at her, feeling his eyes track her as she crossed to the bed. "Time for another vitals check. Every 30 minutes for the first 24 hours, then hopefully we can reduce that to every hour."

Dean nodded, watching her push buttons and record data. His eyes narrowing when she actually touched Sam. "Careful."

Rebecca glanced across the bed at the warning. "Always," she assured and hoped she would eventually gain Sam's brother's trust.

Perhaps if he knew they shared the same taste in music...that could be a start.

Rebecca smiled at the thought and glanced again at Dean. "So...you're a Beatles fan, too?"

But the question didn't break the ice as she had hoped it would.

Dean only blinked at her, his expression unreadable.

...which meant he either had no idea what she was talking about, or he knew exactly what she was talking about...and didn't want to talk about it.

Rebecca felt the warm flush of awkward embarrassment across her cheeks but tried once more to jumpstart a conversation.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," she explained, in case Dean thought she was snooping around in the hallway. "I just couldn't help but hear you humming when I came to Sam's door just now. 'Here Comes the Sun'...right?"

She knew she was right. That song was one of her favorites. A kinder, gentler Beatles. An understated classic. She loved it. And she would recognize that melody anywhere...especially when it was hummed in such a deep, rich voice as Dean's.

Dean continued to stare at her with that unreadable expression before he softly snorted. "Yeah," he finally replied about which song he had been humming. "But I'm not really a fan."

Rebecca tilted her head, inviting him to elaborate and feeling a fresh spark of hope that a friendly connection was indeed being made between her and her patient's brother.

Dean sighed and twitched a sad smile. "Our mom...she, uh...she was a Beatles fan. And so, she would sing their songs to us when we were kids. And 'Here Comes the Sun'...that was Sammy's song. She would always sing it to him before she put him down to sleep, or when he was sick or upset."

Rebecca felt tears brim as Dean paused, looking down at his hand still holding Sam's.

"And then, when she was no longer with us...when she wasn't there to sing it anymore, I did. I would sing it to Sam. And man, he would calm right down," Dean told her, smiling at the memory and now staring at his brother. "He would just look at me with those big eyes, and he would know I was there. Even when he got older, it still worked. And so I figured..."

Dean's voice faded as he shrugged and swallowed against the emotion tightening his throat.

But Rebecca knew what he had figured.

Dean had figured humming Sam's song to him now would comfort his injured little brother. He figured that familiar lullaby would let Sam know his big brother was there...was _here_ , waiting for him.

Rebecca blinked, then brushed the tears from her cheeks.

Dean inhaled a shaky breath and sighed, still staring at Sam, still holding his hand. His touch gentle as his thumb rubbed back and forth over his kid's scraped knuckles.

Rebecca's gaze traveled from the brothers' joined hands to Dean's t-shirt, the fabric stained in several spots with what _had_ to be Sam's blood. The sight startled and upset her more than she expected.

"I'll be back in a little while," she whispered, seeing Dean nod as she left the room.

* * *

 _ **TBC**_


	4. Chapter 4

Dean called Bobby several hours later, standing in the hallway outside of Sam's room, wearing a fresh t-shirt and jeans from some kind of "clothes closet" the hospital apparently kept stocked with new donated clothing for patients and their families.

At first, Dean had been reluctant to accept when Rebecca had made the offer. But he couldn't deny how good it would feel to wear clothes not stained by his brother's blood. There was already enough to remind him of what had happened earlier that evening without having to see those rust-red smears every time he looked down.

Rebecca had beamed at him when Dean had finally agreed, and had stayed with Sam as her patient's brother had quickly changed in the bathroom.

When Dean had emerged, he had decided it was time to call Bobby...which was why he was standing in the hall now, holding the phone and watching Rebecca through the window as she tended to Sam.

The big brother not quite sure _what_ she was doing but appreciating how gentle she was treating his kid.

That automatically won bonus points with Dean.

He smiled his appreciation as she glanced at him, and then refocused on the phone as Bobby answered on the fourth ring.

"Yeah..."

"Bobby."

Dean could hear Bobby blink, the older hunter having not expected Dean's voice on the opposite end of the line.

"Dean? Didn't recognize the number..." Bobby commented but didn't sound concerned, especially since the brothers changed phones with the regularity that most people changed underwear. "You boys headed back home?"

And of course Bobby would ask that.

Because that was the plan the last time he had talked with them – to kill the shifter and then get back on the road, headed to Bobby's...headed _home_.

But life had thrown a curveball.

Dean hesitated. "Uh, no. We're still in Wisconsin."

Bobby immediately sensed trouble, hearing the worry in Dean's voice. "What's wrong? Where's Sam?"

Dean smiled at how well the older hunter knew him...and then felt startled by the urge to cry. "Bobby. It's bad."

Dean could picture Bobby processing those two words, detecting his fear and hearing his voice shake with raw emotion.

"Where are you?" the older hunter asked, moving through his house.

"ICU at Geneva Falls General," Dean answered, pressing the hospital phone closer to his ear – the one Rebecca had allowed him to use at her station – and glanced over his shoulder as another patient's monitors began to blare down the hall.

Dean frowned, instantly turning to check on Sam, to make sure Sam was still stable.

Rebecca was staring straight back at him through Sam's window as if she had anticipated Dean's reaction, giving the big brother an "ok" sign.

Dean's gaze swept over Sam's body, satisfied that his kid was indeed just as he had left him minutes before.

"I'm on my way," Bobby told Dean over the sound of keys being snatched from their hook and a door slamming behind him.

* * *

More than six hours later, Bobby was walking down the hall of the Intensive Care Unit with a duffel slung over his shoulder.

Out in the parking lot, his tow truck was waiting to retrieve the Impala from wherever Dean had left her.

But the old girl could wait.

First, Bobby had two boys he needed to see.

The old hunter quickened his pace at the thought, heading toward Sam's room and attracting the attention of a young nurse whose expression and ponytail were both entirely too perky for 3am.

"Hi there," she smiled and stepped forward to block Bobby's path, polite but firm in her position. "I'm not sure how you accessed this unit, but visiting hours are over."

Bobby arched an eyebrow. "Are they?"

The nurse followed the newcomer's gaze and glanced over her shoulder at her patient's brother asleep at his bedside. She smiled at the sweet scene and then refocused on the man in front of her, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. Because this was none of his business...

"That is a special situation. He has special permission to stay. _You_ , on the other hand..."

Bobby chuckled at her response, having an idea of Dean's aggressive, vocal, potentially violent reaction when he had been told to leave Sam for the night...and how "special permission" had quickly been granted to calm the raging big brother and thus deal with this "special situation".

And if Bobby knew his boys, he suspected Sam had reacted badly to the attempted separation as well.

"Let me guess..." Bobby drawled, knowing what he was about to say would change the nurse's opinion of him for the better. "When you announced it was time for him to leave, Dean told you to fuck off, and Sam's numbers went through the roof _the second_ he lost contact with his brother."

The nurse blinked at the near perfect description of what had happened several hours before – Dean becoming _pissed_ and defiant, his hand slipping from Sam's as he had stood in his anger...and then Sam's monitors had started to blare. Her patient undeniably reacting to the absence of Dean's touch since Sam had leveled out just as quickly once Dean's hand was back in his.

Bobby chuckled again. "That's what I thought," he commented, knowing he was right by her silence.

The nurse tilted her head. "Who are you?"

"Their uncle," Bobby answered without hesitation, unsure if Dean had mentioned him to this nurse but...

"Oh my goodness," the nurse gasped, her demeanor instantly changing as her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. Of course. Uncle Bobby," she said as if it was all so obvious now. "Dean called you earlier."

Bobby nodded, feeling the warmth in his chest that always occurred whenever it was confirmed that his boys had not only mentioned him, but had called him by name and claimed him as family.

The nurse smiled. "Please forgive me," she told Bobby. "I was expecting you, just not so soon. And well..." She shrugged apologetically. "I can be a little protective of my patients. Especially this one..." she added, glancing again over her shoulder and through the window of Sam's room. "Sam is so sweet. He's not even awake, but I just know he is. I can sense it. And Dean...Dean is so good with him. I've never seen brothers so close."

Bobby nodded once more, feeling a burst of love and pride as this nurse gushed over his boys. "They're quite a pair," he agreed, smiling at her. "And don't worry about before. Anybody who's protective of Sam and Dean is alright by me."

The nurse turned back to Bobby. "Same here," she replied with a wink and extended her small hand. "I'm Rebecca."

Bobby shifted the duffel on his shoulder and shook her hand. "So, Rebecca...are uncles covered by this special permission to stay?"

Rebecca smiled. "Absolutely." Her bright expression faded. "They need you."

She could sense that, too.

Bobby felt his heart twist at the sadness and concern in her voice.

There was a beat of silence between them, the hall filled with the mechanical sounds of equipment keeping patients alive along with the hushed voices of other nurses in the unit.

"How is he?"

"He's holding his own," Rebecca replied, assuming Bobby was asking about Sam, though the statement could describe both brothers.

They were both holding their own in this impossibly difficult situation – Sam remaining stable, Dean remaining strong.

Rebecca sighed. "Go head," she urged Bobby, stepping aside and gesturing behind her. "Check on your nephews. We can always talk more later."

Bobby nodded, intending to take her up on that offer, and crossed to Sam's room. The old hunter standing in the doorway and watching his boys sleep.

Dean sitting by the bed and slumped forward at an awkward angle, his head resting on the mattress beside Sam's hip; his hand loosely holding his little brother's.

Sam was settled against a bank of pillows, pale and barely recognizable beneath the bruises and scratches and swelling combined with the wires and monitors and tubes seeming to cover him.

His right arm was casted, his forehead had been stitched in two separate places, and his mouth was stretched wide to accommodate the ventilator tube currently causing his chest to rise and fall.

And although all of that was upsetting, it was what Bobby _couldn't see_ that caused his heart to pound.

Because the older hunter could clearly see the outline of Sam's right leg stretching long and straight beneath the sheet...but he couldn't see the same on Sam's left side since the kid's left leg now ended at his knee.

Bobby swallowed at the realization, at the undeniable fact that half of Sam's left leg was _gone_.

The older hunter shook his head, his eyes seeing...but his mind, his _heart_ struggling to believe.

No wonder Dean had sounded so worried, so _scared_ over the phone.

 _It's bad._

...which was the kind of understatement people made when they were overwhelmed by the reality of _how_ bad a situation was, how severe.

Because this was a catastrophic, life-changing injury...and the boys would be counting on Bobby to help see them through it, to walk beside them as they navigated this unexpected path and found their new normal.

 _New normal._

Bobby swallowed, thankful he could walk again but remembering when his "new normal" had involved paralysis and wheelchairs and so much anger over what had happened to him that most days he had considered just ending it.

But the boys had stuck by him. During one of the worst years of Bobby's life, Sam and Dean had loved him through it. Had refused to give up on him, had refused to let Bobby give up on himself. They had been there, had been what Bobby had needed, and he damn well was going to be there for them now.

Bobby nodded, accepting his role – whatever the brothers needed, he would always give them – and consciously rearranged his expression, determined to remain strong for his boys.

The older hunter sighed, soundlessly entering the room and sitting on the opposite side of Sam's bed; his gaze scanning the monitors before checking the kid and then settling on the kid's big brother.

It was easy to see that Sammy was a mess...and that Dean hadn't left his side.

Bobby smiled softly, leaning back in his chair and helping to keep vigil as he waited for at least one of his boys to wake.

* * *

Dean woke to the sound of voices whispering and lifted his head from the mattress, feeling tired and stiff and achy as he squinted in the glare of the sun peeking through the thin, curtained window and tried to orient himself.

All at once, the events of the previous night rushed back to him.

The car accident, ICU, _Sam..._

Dean instinctively tightened his hold at the thought of his brother, relaxing when he felt Sam's hand still grasped within his own, and turned to look at his kid.

Sam still laid motionless in the bed. His eyes still closed, his face still bruised and swollen, his breaths still mechanically regulated by the tube resting in his throat.

And the lower half of his left leg was still gone.

So much for hoping it had all been a bad dream...

Dean sighed, feeling freshly gut-punched by that bitch named Reality, and glanced across the bed, blinking as he finally saw the source of one of the voices that had woken him.

"Bobby?"

Bobby smiled. "Morning..." he greeted and shifted in his chair, sympathizing with Dean's sore muscles.

Dean continued to blink. "When did you get here?"

Bobby shrugged, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Few hours ago."

"You should've woke me," Dean told him, sitting up a little straighter in his seat but maintaining his grip on Sam's hand.

The big brother determined to keep contact with his kid, to assure Sam that he was _there_. That Sam was not alone, that Dean was waiting for him on the other side of the darkness.

Bobby shook his head. "Nah," he dismissed about his option of waking Dean when he had first arrived at the hospital. "You needed to rest." He paused, glancing at Sam lying in the bed between them. "You both do."

Dean followed Bobby's gaze, staring at his brother. "I guess you saw..."

"Mmhmm," Bobby hummed and waited for Dean to lead the conversation.

The older hunter not missing the big brother's rigid posture or the way Dean kept his attention on Sam's face, seeming to refuse looking at the lower half of his brother's body.

Bobby sighed, recognizing the signs of grief associated with amputation...and it seemed Dean was firmly camped in stage one – disbelief and denial.

 _Maybe if he didn't look, it wouldn't be true._

Bobby sighed again.

The silence stretched, filled with the cadence of the monitors surrounding Sam, with the steady whoosh of the ventilator doing its job.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing at Bobby. "Who were you talking to?"

Bobby arched an eyebrow. "When?"

"Just now," Dean replied. "When I woke up, I heard two people talking."

"Oh..." Bobby commented and gestured toward the hallway. "Shift change. Sam's new nurse was introducing herself and checking his vitals."

Dean nodded and watched Sam's chest rise and fall.

Bobby continued to sit and wait.

Dean inhaled a shaky breath. "Do you know what happened?"

"I do," Bobby confirmed, having charmed Rebecca into letting him read her patient's chart in order to spare Dean the task of reliving the nightmare.

Dean arched an eyebrow at Bobby, suspecting what the older hunter had done.

Bobby shrugged. "What can I say? The ladies love me."

Dean smiled, thankful for the light moment, and then refocused on Sam; his thumb rubbing over his brother's scraped knuckles as his smile dissolved.

"I don't know what we're going to do," he confessed quietly. "When Sam wakes up...when he realizes...when he knows..."

Dean trailed off as his voice cracked.

He shook his head.

"I don't know what we're going to do," Dean repeated, tears stinging his eyes.

"I do," Bobby returned confidently, looking calm and collected as he continued to lean back in his chair on the opposite side of Sam's bed.

Dean looked at him, waiting for the answer.

"You're gonna be there for your brother," Bobby told him. "And I'm gonna be there for _both_ of you. And we're all gonna get through this together and move on with our lives. _That's_ what we're gonna do."

Dean allowed Bobby's words to wash over him, soothing him and reminding him they were a family...and they could handle anything as long as they were together.

...even this.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, his thumb still rubbing over Sam's knuckles as he held his brother's hand and waited for his kid to wake up.

* * *

 _ **END**_


End file.
